And with just that simple statement, the sharp edge of Hugh’s desire honed to a burning point. Suddenly the cozy warmth of the stables was too hot, the air around them crackling with sensual energy. He’d never experienced anything like it, this itching, burning feeling coursing over his skin. That it was brought on by simple verbal praise astonished him. But, then, everything that had happened today astonished him.
Charlotte recognized the change in the atmosphere. Her pupils widened, her mouth parted. Hugh stepped back a fraction, forcibly preventing himself from moving too fast and frightening her. She took a step forward, closing the distance he’d just created.
Against his better judgment, Hugh tugged her nearer. When she came forward willingly, he reassessed her. Charlotte was comfortable with his touch and his bold approach. In fact, he would say her approach was just as bold, belying her innocent exterior.
“Charlotte.” His free hand came up to brush across her cheek, finding her creamy skin as soft as he’d imagined it would be. “I believe you are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“My lord—”
“Hugh,” he corrected. He’d never been comfortable with his title, and at this moment it created a distinction between their classes of which he didn’t wish to be reminded.
She leaned into his touch, her mouth curving in a wry smile. “I’m usually immune to charming rogues.”
Hugh didn’t deny the obvious. Instead he ran his thumb across her lips. “Your mouth is beyond lovely. It’s simply perfect.”
His free hand moved to her shoulder, then down along the curve of her spine. Charlotte arched into him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Unhampered by stays and petticoats, he could feel her, all of her, yet not enough of her.
Lowering his head slowly, he moved his fingertips away, intent on kissing her. She had such a lovely mouth, so full and ripe. And it said such wonderful things.
It was the not-so-gentle bite from his horse upon his shoulder that brought back the reality of the small stable stall and the storm that raged outside. For a moment, Hugh considered ignoring the rude intrusion and continuing anyway, but the warning snort from the beast behind him changed his mind.
“We should go back to the house,” he said with true regret. “I believe my horse is jealous.”
Charlotte blinked and took a moment to reply, visibly withdrawing from his blatant seduction. “Yes, I suppose that would be wise.” The matching note of regret in her voice soothed Hugh’s nigh-unbearable frustration.
Hands linked together, they left the comfortable stable and struggled across the courtyard, entering the manse through the kitchen. They were wet and frozen by the time they completed the journey, and the cook stared at them agape as they stumbled inside followed by a billowing cloud of snow. Hugh gaped right back.
The cook was the largest woman he’d ever seen. Impossibly tall and built like a laborman, she quite frankly scared him. Gray hair stuck out in every direction, and grayer eyes raked him from head to toe. With a gleaming knife in her hand and a helpless chicken on the counter, she was a terrifying sight to behold. He might have stood there for hours, arrested by shock, had Charlotte not grabbed his arm and tugged him from the room.
“Good God,” he muttered as he followed Charlotte up the servants’ stairs to the upper floors.
Minx that she was, she laughed. “Wait until dinner,” she promised. “You’ll be impressed.”
“I’m impressed already.” He’d never met an Amazon before in his life.
Traversing well-appointed hallways, Hugh barely had time to register the dichotomy of the house before he found himself in an immense bedchamber warmed by a fire. It was beautifully furnished and immaculately cleaned. He found it hard to believe he was in the same residence he’d entered just a few hours ago.
“Why isn’t the rest of the manse maintained?” he asked, glancing back at her.
Charlotte shivered by the door, her hair and garments wet with melting snow.
He held out his hand. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”
“Not yet.”
The “yet” gave him pause, a tiny intimation that she intended at some point to tarry in his rooms. Their eyes met and held, his with silent query, hers open and clear.
“Go change, then,” he said. “Before you catch your death. You can explain to me after you’re warmed.”
She nodded. “I’ll return directly to escort you to supper.”
Hugh sketched a quick bow. “I await your pleasure.”
“How long did it take before he started asking questions?”
Charlotte sighed. “Longer than I would have expected.”
“How did you answer?”
“I didn’t.”
“But you’ll have to.”
Nodding, Charlotte began to strip from her damp clothes. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. “Montrose is very interesting, just as you suspected.”
“And handsome.”
“Yes, he’s quite gorgeous, and a brazen rake, too.” Smiling, she thought of the way he’d cleaned her hands for her and the concern he’d shown for his injured footman. “But much nicer than I would have thought. A touch vulnerable, too, which I never would have suspected. I took him for the arrogant sort, but beneath that exterior, I think he doubts himself a little.”
“Oh . . . he is interesting! Perhaps it’s good he’s come along, then. You’re young and lovely; it’s truly a shame you’ve chosen to dedicate yourself to me. Not that I’d ever send you away. You keep me from going completely mad with boredom.”
Charlotte laughed. “It’s no sacrifice, as you well know.”
“’Tis far different from the life you knew.”
“That is not a bad thing.” Charlotte sank gratefully into the steaming bath. “My former life had its pleasures, to be sure, but I was ready for a change and a bit of equanimity.”
A few moments of silence passed. “I studied the map while you were gone.”
Resting her head against the lip of the tub, Charlotte closed her eyes. “I’m sick to death of poring over that blasted thing. When the spring thaw comes, we’ll charter a ship and go ourselves. Perhaps then we’ll discover something useful.”
“His Grace was very ill when he gave you that map,” came the soft reminder. “Perhaps he wasn’t altogether sane at the time.”
Charlotte sank lower into the water. She’d considered that possibility many times. The books Glenmoore had left behind were cryptic at best, and the map, while comparable to others depicting the same body of water, had distinguishing features she could find nowhere else. Still, what choice did they have? The new Duke of Glenmoore was miserly with the trust and—
“Have you considered any other possibilities?” interjected the lilting voice Charlotte had come to love.
“No,” she admitted. “But I suppose I shall have to, in short order.”
“Well, in the meantime, enjoy the earl.” The soft rustle of muslin betrayed movement. “You should wear your red silk to dinner. You’re breathtaking in it. He’ll never be able to resist you.”
“He’s not trying to resist me,” she said dryly. She’d never cared for libidinous pleasure-seekers like Montrose, though she’d tolerated them when necessary. Hugh, however, wasn’t at all like his appearance led one to believe. In fact, he seemed almost lonely. Much like she was.
“Ah, well, even better.”
Charlotte laughed. “I’m certain it’s not proper to discuss this sort of thing with you.”
“Who cares about proper? We’ve never done anything properly.”
Hugh glanced again at the mirror, adjusting his cravat for the hundredth time, before resuming his pacing. What the devil was taking Charlotte so blasted long?
He’d give her a few moments more, then he’d track her down. Who knew what had happened to her in this museum of oddities? Why, he shuddered just thinking about it! It was abominable for such a gorgeous creature to be rusticating out here, in the wilds of Derbyshire. It was a travesty he intended to rectify as soon as the cursed weather cooperated.
When the long-awaited knock finally came, he threw open the portal with such haste that Charlotte stumbled backward in surprise. He was equally astonished.
Dressed in a crimson silk gown of stunning simplicity, she stole his breath and his wits. With off-the-shoulder sleeves, low-cut bodice, and high waist, the dress featured no adornments of any kind. Charlotte herself wore no jewelry or gloves, and her coppery hair was piled atop her head in riotous curls. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and the scent of her, fresh and flowery, was an arousing counterpoint to the seductive look of her.
It took all of the self-control Hugh possessed to keep from grabbing her and ravishing her upon his bed. Charlotte appealed to him on so many levels, he found it hard to collect them all.
He watched, mesmerized, as her mouth curved in a knowing smile. She was thoroughly aware of the effect the sight of her would have on any man.
“Shall we go to supper?” she asked.
“Must we?”
Her green eyes glowed with warm amusement. “I’m rather starved myself.”
So was Hugh, but not for food. However, the thought of her company while eating his meal was somewhat pacifying. He stepped out of his room and offered his arm. The light touch of her bare fingers burned through his coat and shirt to his skin below, making him ache for her. Charlotte was tiny, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and from his high vantage, Hugh had an excellent view of the ripe swell of her breasts.
He looked away, staring resolutely down the gallery. Unlike the demimondaines with whom he usually associated, it felt wrong to ogle Charlotte as if she were worth nothing more than a good tumble. She was intelligent and kind, as evidenced by her steadfastness in the face of today’s events. Fact was, he rather liked her, what little he knew of her, and since he had a few days to fill, he determined to discover as much about her as he could in that time.
As they moved from one hallway to another and prepared to descend the main staircase, Hugh felt as if he were moving through time. The brightly lit and beautifully furnished part of the house faded into the dust-covered and rotting section as easily as they turned the corner.
“It’s less of a burden on the servants to maintain only the areas we use regularly,” Charlotte explained before he could ask.
Thinking of the motley crew he’d met so far, he had to agree.
Hugh was relieved to see that the dining room was clean and kept in usable condition, but he was slightly disappointed to see only two place settings on the long mahogany table.
“Is Her Grace not joining us for dinner?” Even as he asked, he wondered why a paid companion would be allowed to dress so beautifully and eat dinner with him instead of with her employer. But he refused to ask. No sane man would question such good fortune.
“She’s become accustomed to eating her meals alone.”
“Odd, that,” he murmured as he held a chair for her. He’d made a habit of surrounding himself with large, boisterous groups of people, rarely spending a moment without company of some sort. Eating alone sounded . . . lonely.
Taking his seat, Hugh settled in to enjoy his meal when a familiar noise drew his attention to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He shook his head and sighed.
Sure enough, the portal swung open and the young, jittery maid entered. The soup tureen in her hands wobbled alarmingly, and the ladle protruding from it rattled so loudly, nothing else could be heard. Directly on her heels and bearing a pitcher came Tom, the lazy-eyed boy who’d assisted Hugh earlier.
The two servants almost collided, compliments of the madly swinging door. Together they performed an odd sort of spinning dance, stumbling forward and back and around, as they attempted to keep their liquids from spilling out everywhere.
For a moment, Hugh watched the antics in dumbfounded fascination, and then, muttering an oath, he pushed to his feet and rescued the maid from the soup (or the soup from the maid, depending on how one looked at it).
“’Tis a wonder you don’t starve,” he muttered, and Charlotte laughed.
“They would have been fine, if you’d have given them a moment.”
Hugh shot her a disbelieving glance.
“Truly,” she insisted.
“Are you the only normal individual on the premises?” he rejoined as he took his seat.
The lovely full mouth he found endlessly erotic curved in a wide grin. “That depends on what you consider normal. Some would say that a young, unmarried woman who chooses to live with a mad duchess is far from normal.” She glanced at the shaking woman at the end of the table. “You may serve now, Katie.”
The pretty brunette flashed a tentative smile and moved to fill their bowls with soup. Hugh watched as, despite her affliction, she managed the task without spilling a drop onto the pristine tablecloth.
The meal consisted of a variety of delectable dishes, including curried fowl and braised ham, and Charlotte was refreshing and engaging. She made him laugh with her dry wit and was attentive enough to keep his glass filled with wine. Hugh attempted to broach the subject of the duchess, but like a consummate politician, she directed the conversation to lighter topics, such as the spring dance in the village and Mr. Edgewood’s skinny, unappetizing pig. Lost in the pleasure of her company, Hugh was content to allow her evasiveness. For the moment.
After dinner they retired to the upstairs library, and Hugh took the opportunity to study her in greater depth. It was easy to discern that she was not merely a paid companion. There was a practiced grace to her movements and a studious understanding of the customs enjoyed by men of privilege. She brought him a cigar, which she lit with expertise. Moving to the sideboard, Charlotte poured a large ration of brandy, which she warmed over a candle flame before bringing it to him. Her hips swayed softly as she approached, her shoulders held back to better display her lovely breasts. The invitation in her eyes was apparent.
